The group of five had traveled in silence most of the day, each pondering their own dark thoughts. Lorthrendel had been trying to make sense of that strange, overpowering feeling that he had felt back in Iksyn that had told him to go with Isendir, Ragnus, Aerysdren and Varenyl. The fae had never experienced anything like that in his life, and it unnerved him quite a lot. Lorthrendel wasn't one to be made nervous either. He wasn't lying when he told Varenyl that he had once dabbled in necromancy. He had seen quite a few dark and grotesque things in his life, sometimes even putting his soul on the line, but he had never once been nervous. Suffice to say, the mage wasn't quite trusting of whatever was going on. He was determined to get to the bottom of it, too.

The day had been beautiful. Clear blue sky, gentle early spring wind, peaceful and uneventful walk. The tranquility of it masked the tragedy that had occurred just that morning. It was all very misleading, and made Varenyl, who was beginning to feel less like himself with each passing hour, keep his gaze fixated on the sky nearly the entire time.

When they had stopped to rest for a few minutes, Ragnus had pulled Isendir out of earshot of the others. Though the rest of the party couldn't hear what they were saying, it was obvious they had been having a heated argument. That fact had made a small smile touch Lorthrendel's lips. Aerysdren had taken that time to try and clean some of his wounds out with water from a nearby creek, but as Varenyl had pointed out, many of them were going to need ointment and further medicinal care. As a Sylvari soldier, Varenyl knew how to care for a wide range of injuries, but he hadn't brought any supplies with him to do such things. He had left too abruptly, and he was certain that the refugees he had left behind did not have any with them either.

The party now sat around a magically lit fire, a few ways off from the road. Shadows of the night lurked between the trees, playing tricks on their eyes. In the distance, the hooting of an owl could be heard.

Rosepoint was only a day's walk from Iksyn, but due to a late start, they had been forced to make camp for the night. All but one seemed to be enjoying the heat of the fire. Varenyl kept his back turned to the flames, but none of the others knew why. He kept his gaze on the darkness of the trees that surrounded them.

Lorthrendel's brows furrowed as he struggled to visualize and remember the difficult and intricate runes that his spellbook showed him. He was beginning to get frustrated. Very frustrated.

One of the limitations that Thynryx cursed his mages with was that once a spell was cast, the knowledge of how to cast it was gone from the caster's memory. The mage had to relearn the spell's corresponding rune each and every time that spell was cast. And Lorthrendel was getting tired of having to do that.

Finally having enough, the fae closed his book with a snap and put it away. He groaned. It was too dark to try and read anyway, and he didn't want to waste a light spell for that moment. He had already been forced to use his magic to create a fire, since it was against Aerysdren's cultural beliefs to cut trees and burn their wood for fuel. No twigs or branches could be found on the forest floor either. 

Lorthrendel looked over at the Sylvanaar. Aerysdren sat on a rock close to the fire, almost absently flipping a knife into the air and deftly catching it by its hilt each time. Eventually he stopped and laid his blade down beside him. He ran his hand through his short black hair, trying his best to make it look decent.

"You have the fingers of one who knows how to use them quite well, Aerysdren," Lorthrendel commented with a sly smile. "You wouldn't by chance happen to be an illusionist?"

Aerysdren jumped at the sound of his name. He looked over at Lorthrendel before glancing back down at his hands. His slender fingers were scarred from many years of working and living in the forest. "I um...might know a few tricks or so," he murmured. He looked back up, his eyes wide. "Why?"

"Just curious," Lorthrendel returned. He rested his elbow on his knee. "How'd you learn?"

"I'm self taught." Aerysdren reached down into his old shoe and pulled out a coin. He held it between his knuckles, and as Lorthrendel watched, the coin began to dance across his fingers. "I had to entertain myself somehow." Aerysdren caught the coin and put it back in his shoe. "I am good at both, mr fae sir."

Varenyl glanced over at Aerysdren. "I can't believe the Sylvari allow that type of behavior for adolescents." He purposely spoke in Sylvari so Aerysdren couldn't understand.

Lorthrendel could, however. His red eyes flashed at Varenyl. "Sylvanaar men and women live in the forest, Jorona. There is only one city in the entire country. Their young have to learn how to take care themselves," he coldly explained in Varenyl's own language. He didn't bother to try and keep the condescending tone out of his voice. "Their culture is adapted to the conditions of their homeland, just as the Sylvari's is to Sheeth Dorei. If I were you, I'd be a bit more lenient to him. He's been through a lot."

Varenyl's gaze softened. "Wouldn't expect a pampered little boy like yourself to know his pain."

Lorthrendel absently twisted the edges of his mustache. "You do not know me, Varenyl. You do not know how I grew up, or of the struggles and discrimination I faced. Do not make assumptions."

"I have no idea what you two are talking about, but it sounds like an argument that hopefully has nothing to do with me," Aerysdren suddenly intervened with a small grin. When the two older men each gave him cold stares, he sighed and returned to flipping his knife up into the air.

"Leave the boy alone, you two." Isendir cast them both dark glances.

"Which boy?" Varenyl retorted. "The Sylvanaar with blue eyes or the red haired pansy?"

Lorthrendel frowned. "Watch your tongue, elf."

Isendir inwardly groaned from where he leaned against a tree, his hand reaching up to massage his temples. This was going to be a long trip. Even longer if those two could get to Rosepoint without killing each other.

The Highlander finally reached up and undid the tie in his hair that held his dreadlocks together, letting them fall around his face. He crossed his arms defensively across his chest as he caught sight of Ragnus sitting opposite of him, smoking his pipe with his eyes shut.

Eventually the dwarf opened his eyes and looked around. "What are we going to do about watches?"

"I'll go first." Isendir perked up.

"On the contrary, judging by your eyes, Isendir Shatterstorm, I do not think it would be wise for you to take first watch. All due respect, of course," Lorthrendel objected, slightly gesturing with his slender, naturally tattooed hand. "I think we could all use our rest tonight. If you four would allow me, I could lay down an enchantment around the campsite that will warn us if there are any unwanted trespassers."

Ragnus narrowed his eyes at the mage in suspicion. "You're being awfully polite there, mister. Especially after what you said this morning."

The light of the fire was reflected off of Lorthrendel's spectacles, effectively hiding the red eyes beneath. He tilted his head at Ragnus. "Perhaps we started off wrong, dwarf."

"Either way, I don't trust you or your little magic tricks." Ragnus blew out a puff of smoke and looked back down at the green, dancing grass. "I will take first watch. You lot go to sleep."

"I guess I'll talk to you all in the morning. Goodnight everyone!" Aerysdren said gleefully. He climbed up into one of the trees around the campsite, and that was the last they saw of him until morning.

Isendir walked over to Ragnus before laying down on his own bedroll. He crossed his arms as he gazed down at the dwarf. "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

Ragnus took another puff. "Never was, you tinhead." He fixed Isendir with a keen green eye. "I just worry about you. But if you manage to get locked up tomorrow because those knights recognize your face, then I may be a wee bit pissed at you, because I'm pretty damn sure that we had a very detailed conversation regarding that today."

Isendir heaved a soft sigh and looked away. "I'll be fine, old man. Just wake me when you get tired."

~-~-~

Varenyl clasped his cloak together as he walked, not even bothering to look behind him to see if any of the guards were following him. He knew they weren't. They were too tired and hurt to care about someone disappearing into the night.

Snow crunched underneath Varenyl's boots as he walked along the mountain path. A cold and brisk wind blew, forcing the Sylvari to hold on to his cowl to keep it from blowing off. He was angry. It was anger mixed with desperation, grief, and pain, and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

So intent was he on his own dark musings, he never noticed Wylcher standing watch.

"Varenyl? What are you doing out here?" The guard jumped to his feet and put his hands on his friend's shoulders to stop him. Wylcher's eyes were bloodshot from his silent weeping, illuminated by the light of the pale moon. "Are you my replacement for the watch?"

"Wylcher...." Varenyl swallowed. He lowered his head and tried to walk past the Sylvari. He didn't want his dear friend to know. "Excuse me, old friend."

"Wait a moment, Varen." Wylcher held his axe out in front of Varenyl, effectively blocking his path. Wylcher's eyes narrowed in his increasing suspicion. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"Wylcher...please, let me pass," Varenyl muttered. He kept his gaze on the snow covered ground and didn't move. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he heard his heartbeat in his ears.

Wylcher gazed at his friend in shock. "By Ione, you are leaving, aren't you?" His eyes narrowed. "How sickeningly selfish, Jorona. Please tell me you're not deserting. You're a better man than that."

Varenyl's breath quickened. He still didn't look at Wylcher. He couldn't. He unconsciously gripped a small dagger underneath the folds of his cloak. "Wylcher, let me pass," he quietly repeated.

"How can you leave us? How can you abandon our ailing king, and our people?" Wylcher snarled. "You're not the only one who lost their family in that fire, Jorona. You cannot desert just becau-"

"Shut up, just shut up!" Varenyl moved so fast Wylcher dropped his weapon in shock.

Wylcher's eyes widened in pain. Varenyl felt something warm begin to soak his hand.

It was then that he realized what he had done.

He looked down at his hand in horror.

In his bloodstained hand, was the knife that he had shoved into Wylcher's stomach....

"Varenyl!"

The Sylvari's eyes flared open. In an instant he was gripping the stranger by his hair and holding a knife to his throat. As his brain started working again, he began to notice the texture of the man's hair. Dreadlocks.

Varenyl blinked in the pale light of the morning sun. "Isendir?"

"Varenyl," Isendir coldly replied. The Highlander glanced at him from over his shoulder. "So who's Wylcher?"

Varenyl slowly looked around. He saw Lorthrendel, Ragnus and Aerysdren staring at him with a mixture of concerned and shocked expressions. Remembering that he was still holding a knife to Isendir's throat and gripping his hair with a painfully tight grip, Varenyl quickly let go. His knife fell from his shaking hand.

He lowered his head, his brows knotting together as he tried to remember what he had been dreaming. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his heart was racing in his chest. He forced himself to breathe slower. "He...he was my friend...."

Then it hit him.

The knife.

The blood.

And it wasn't just a dream.

It had actually happened.

He had murdered his closest friend....

Varenyl covered his mouth with his hand in horror and nearly gagged. "What have I done?" 

***🐉***

I realize this chapter leaves much to be desired, so please tell me any critiques you may have. I was conflicted over if I should break if up it up into two chapters, but eventually I decided to just keep it as one xD

Thank you so much for reading!!